The Steam-Packet: A Tale of the River and the Ocean — page 233: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

176 THE STEAM PACKET, tall English gentleman, middle-aged, not over well attired, and whose acquaintance the worthy chairman had formed about an hour previ- ously upon the pier. The gentleman, it appeared, was a resident in Calais, and his name was Bambross. He was a sort of literary scrub, writing an article in the first number of every new magazine which started, and which never saw a second; vamping up French anec- dotes into tales to suit the fastidious English, and glorifying himself on account of their insertion in the London penny publications, at the rate of five shillings a column of very small type; and composing - letters for those of his fellow-countrymen who resided in Calais, and whose slender knowledge of orthography would not allow them to trust themselves with the composition of any important document. Mr. Bambross was therefore well acquainted with all the English in- habitants of Calais ; and, as he stood in the middle of the market-place, with Mr. Pifpaf on one le: Mr. Smale on another, and his umbrella under his arm, he described in his own graphic way, the various English characters who happened to be lounging about at the same time. ‘‘ That,” said Mr. Bambross, pointing to astout old gentleman, who was walking with a little boy, ‘‘is Mr. Muscovado; gross in person, | and formerly grocer in trade; tired of, and re-tired from business,— i who thinks that his soz shines, and builds castles in the hewr.” a ‘‘ A sleek, contented-looking gentleman,” observed Mr. Pifpaf. “But who is that thin person, with the red waistcoat and broad- brimmed hat?” . “From New York direct,”’ aswered Mr. Bambross SE: pretty con- siderable traveller, I guess—a collector of fiction, and recorder of fact —smiling on the English and French in this hemisphere, and black- guarding them in his own; in a word, the personification of a steamer, upon the low-pressure system, that sails across the Atlantic for the purpose of issuing smoke in two thick volumes.” | ‘“‘ Who is that lady now crossing the market-place ? ”’ inquired Mr. Pifpaf. ‘‘ There, she has just entered the library opposite.” ‘““QOh! Miss Yellowleaf,”’ replied Mr, Bambross, changing his um- brella from one arm to the other: ‘a lady Jean and literary, and whose age is at the present period of her life explained by her name. She is suspected of contributing an acrostic to an album, convicted of revising a charade for an almanack, and once found guilty of a rebus. She is moreover the possessor of a five-franc prize-medal for the best address upon the opening of a new 4 | ‘‘ Theatre ?”’ said Mr. Smale, inquiringly, | “‘No—a new Tea-caddy,” answered Mr. Bambross. ‘She has a niece—mind, only a niece—about fifteen, who plays all the new airs, cComicbooks.c